


Stay

by Velvetina_Belle



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Established Relationship, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-12
Updated: 2012-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-29 10:31:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velvetina_Belle/pseuds/Velvetina_Belle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade knows he shouldn’t stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Stay  
> Pairing: Mycroft/Lestrade.  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Status: Complete fictlet.  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing I am sad to say, I am only borrowing the boys from the most modern adaptation of Conan Doyle’s work, which belongs to Stephen Moffat..  
> Summary: Lestrade knows he shouldn’t stay.  
> Warnings: I don’t think there’s anything.  
> Author's notes: Well… yeah. I wasn’t going to write this and then theskywasblue said I should.

Stay:

The moments – morning? – after was always a weird time for one Greg Lestrade. The juxtaposed emotions of bone deep contentment and utter self-loathing always warred with one another, which one of those won was a predictable as the roll of a dice. At the moment the battle was still on-going as he stared down at the smooth back bared to his gaze. Against all expectation Mycroft Holmes slept like a baby; all easy breaths and heavy limbs. _Not your handler… I don’t just do what your brother tells me_ he’d told Sherlock, but he’d had to look away to hide his lie, because that wasn’t strictly the truth. Technically he didn’t do anything that Mycroft _told_ him to do. No, it was worse than that. Mycroft _suggested_ things in that consistently bored upper class drawl of his and now Greg knew him well enough to see the deepest spark of worry in those pale eyes. A worry that was never spoken out loud and tugged at his heartstrings all the same. Greg knew that he was a sap but when Mycroft had that expression he would practically trip over himself to try and give reassurance any way that he could.

The lack of guilt was a worry. He couldn’t help thinking that he really should feel guilty. There was no longer any love lost between him and his wife, he’d been aware of her latest affair before Sherlock had typically, awkwardly blurted out the news. The reconciliation had failed dismally – doomed from the start really. Greg wasn’t quite sure whether he’d unconsciously pushed Helen away because he’d been unable to emotionally distance himself from this _thing_ with Mycroft, as much as he desperately wanted to. Or maybe it had been a lack of caring on her part. Either way, it was too late. He was captivated. Caught. Bound. From the moment that the bastard had strolled into his life wearing an impeccable three piece suit and demanded arrogantly that he keep tabs on Sherlock Holmes. Really, he should just le Helen go. It could have been his sudden distance that had made her seek a string of lovers and he couldn’t be too bitter, it wasn’t like he was much better because he kept his adultery monogamous. It would be the kindest course of action. Yet Greg knew that his time with Mycroft could never be anything more than moments of stolen perfection that were then crystallised within his mind. A man of Mycroft’s standing had to be far beyond any normal level of reproach. No scandal could be allowed to touch him. And so, very selfishly, Greg couldn’t stand the thought of always returning to an empty house, his only company the memory of those moments.

Mycroft’s breath hitched, his ribs standing out clearly for a heartbeat, nape of his neck so vulnerable in its exposure, and unthinkingly Greg slipped his hand down Mycroft’s spine soothingly.

“Shh…” he hummed softly, but it was too late and Mycroft was rolling over onto his side in a lithe movement. The faint light of the early morning sun managed to sneak in though a gap in the curtains washing over Mycroft’s features, picking out the golden tint to his hair, and making Greg squint slightly.

“This is a pleasant surprise. I normally wake alone with a dent on the other side of my bed.”

“Yeah, sorry…” Greg shifted uncomfortably, “I meant to get going but kinda fell asleep. Guess that business at Baskerville wore me out.”

“You are more than welcome to stay for breakfast if you wish.”

“Thanks, but I probably should get going.”

Greg started to swing himself out of the bed but was stopped by a strong hand clamping down on his wrist. “Stay.” There was that look once more and Greg Lestrade found himself unable to resist and so he stayed.


End file.
